Scattered Pieces
by justira
Summary: Collected One Piece drabbles. Latest additions: Lots of Pell and Chaka/Pell, and some Sanji/Zoro
1. Blood Music

**Title:** Blood Music  
**Rating:** PG-13? A little graphic (it's Lucci) and sex is mentioned.  
**Word Count:** 3 x 100  
**Pairing:** Lucci/Paulie with creepy Hattori.  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for Water Seven, through chapter ... 349. (The fact that I can pull that number out of thin air demonstrates my unhealthy obsession with Water Seven)  
**Notes:** Each of these can stand on its own, but they're meant to be a set of three. Each clocks in at 100 words even.

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When Lucci gets especially bored with this game, he lets his hand pause over Paulie's heart, fingers tense, ready to pierce, slide easily through skin until blood wells up, down through muscle where veins shudder and rip, into flesh and past bone until he can feel the pathetic pulsing of Paulie's heart, until the feeble echo of blood music in his ears swells to a symphony of savagery.

Paulie's breath hitches then; his eyes might grow wary but his fool grin also widens. Lucci's waiting to see the look in those eyes when Paulie can hear the blood music, too.

---

Hattori is never afraid of his master, not even when Lucci is all fur and fangs and the low rumble of a growl. Lucci's new toy is afraid. Perched close enough that he can hear a breath stop mid-gasp over the noise of them together, Hattori watches, wonders if this time Lucci will kill. Wonders why the other doesn't run; stupid, so afraid and still returning to distract his master.

He mouths the syllables, though, helps his master stalk this stupid prey, and waits for the regular rhythm of this game to be broken by sharp fingers and pulsing blood.

---

There's a tune to this, a beat: Paulie's pulse stutters as fingers pause (affection? like hell, but he swallows anyway) over his heart, as sweat (his own, Lucci's) rolls down his back; a rhythm: breaths, pants, off-kilter to the pounding of blood in his ears. A familiar pattern: Lucci smirks and Paulie snarls; bites in the dark; a laugh edged with threat, promise, heat. It's a tune he knows, and damn if he hadn't gotten used to it.

It's when he feels his heart stutter again, pulse blood around Lucci's fingers, that he realizes: he has always been tone deaf.

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It's been a year since I tried my hand at drabbles. This was a submission to the "Music" topic at the livejournal One Piece yaoi drabble community, oonepieceyaoi100.


	2. Work, music, and thou

**Title:** Work, music, and thou  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** 100  
**Pairing:** Iceburg/Franky

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A sheaf of blueprints rustles. Little pink claws scratch across orange and maroon fabric. The clink of a cup of tea as it's set down on the nearby table, a hearty breath.

These are the sounds that are drowned out by the keening notes of a guitar and Franky's caterwauling.

A rustle as Iceburg twitches, scatching as Tyrannosaurus scrabbles frantically towards safety in Iceburg's pocket, the cup set down to free a hand for a solid smack upside the head, breath drawn to shout over the din of Franky's playing.

Silenced by a grinning kiss.

At least the singing stopped.

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Why no, this isn't my OTP at all. I haven't been waiting for their happy ending for a year, no, totally. Go read the Chapter 431 spoiler, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with the drabble.


	3. Last Sky

**Title**: Last Sky  
**Character**: Pell  
**Rating/Spoilers**: G; Vague for end of Alabasta arc  
**Word Count**: 79. Count 'em  
**Notes**: Hella old.

* * *

**Last Sky**

The sky was blue and dry, shot through with sunlight and the beat of his wings. He loved the sky, never tired of it, never tired of watching it bloom under and above him, up and forward into forever.

He closed his eyes.

Vivi. Cobra. Chaka. Arabasta. Hope. Rain.

He closed his eyes to the sky and savored those faces, his heartbeat, the last cool rush of air on his face before heat blossomed under him like a flower.


	4. Drowning

**Title:** Drowning  
**Rating/Spoilers:** G, I think; Spoilers for, um, what Pell is?  
**Word Count:** 300. Bam.  
**Pairing:** Light Luffy/Pell. Yes, I know.  
**Notes:** Like the previous one, this is hella old. Wanted to write about Pell flying some more, and then it occured to me that Luffy would love flying.

* * *

**Drowning**

Luffy had forgotten what it was like to swim, to float. He only remembered how to drown, the cold seeping in between clutching fingers. This was like drowning all over again.

He screamed in delight as the falcon stooped again – the fastest thing in the world. The cold air pushed into his mouth, but he felt like he could float forever like this, welcomed this new drowning, let the air fill him. Reveled even in the heavy press like the ocean's weight as Pell pulled up again, flattening Luffy's chest to his feathered back. So different from the sea that rejected him, cold and sterile, clawing into his lungs. The sky welcomed him, cold but with the harsh beat of the sun on his skin, empty but swallowing his laughter, swelling in his chest the way sitting in his special seat as the _Going Merry_ plunged through endless waves did.

Pell laughed with him, soared up and up until the boy was blinded by the sun, shivering in the chill of the high air and not caring. He shifted then, wrapped the boy in solid arms, warm from the exertion of flight. They fell, head-over-heels, and Luffy was not afraid, like he was not afraid to fall into the sea, because his nakama would save him.

The world careened closer, and the air grew warmer beyond the chilling rush of their descent. He wrapped himself around the man, buried himself in the closer heat. Tilted his head up-but-down and kissed the soft lips. Felt them hesitate before the chaste kiss was returned. Broke away laughing, screamed into the other's ear: "You made me love drowning!"

Pell laughed again, sprouted wings, caught them into a slowing glide on the rising heat of the sand. Soared up to fall and drown again.

* * *


	5. King's Ransom

**Title:** King's Ransom I and II  
**Rating/Spoilers:** G; Vague for end of Alabasta  
**Word Count:** 276 + 297 = 573  
**Pairing:** Light Chaka/Pell  
**Notes:** Once again, way old. Mirror-drabbles about the price of serving and being served.

* * *

**I**

ran•som:  
1: a consideration paid or demanded for the release of someone or something from captivity  
2: a redemption from sin and its consequences.

A country is its people. Great and small, old or young, rich or poor. Joyful and celebrating; mourning and rebuilding. Returned and triumphant. Lost and remembered. Power, worn over clothes, can't seep into his skin, can't let him do more than any other man. It is for those whose power dances in their veins to pay his ransom.

The weight of the land lies heavy on a king's shoulders. This weight is not shed with his royal robes, so when he faces those who pay his prices for him, he is naked before them, and burdened. He can no more ask such men to let him pay his own way from his sins than ask to change the nature of their lives. To ask to carry his own burden is to make their lives, their deaths meaningless.

But he wishes, then, facing such a man, that it would not be such a cruel favour. Their saviours are all gone, to sea and sky. This man, who can touch neither, turns to him and smiles.

"It is a great day for Arabasta, your Majesty."

There is little he can say. Jackal and falcon, hound and fowl, they had served him together, always. Placing the burden of his blood above their light touches, quiet looks, hard embraces. What does one say when such a gift is set aside so that one man can live, one country thrive?

A king's ransom paid, a country saved. A falcon's flight, a jackal's grin.

"Yes, Chaka. It is."

______________

**II**

ran•som:  
1: a consideration paid or demanded for the release of someone or something from captivity  
2: a redemption from sin and its consequences.

He's not surprised when his arms are full again, when weight returns to his chest and leaves his heart, when the smile he'd borne vanishes and the tears he hadn't shed stain the brown hair under his fingertips.

For a moment, nothing is said but for the silent language of touch and tears. Neither lasts long; they can speak later, silent reassurances soothing the secret guilt of despair that, believe as they might, trust as they could, had crept in on the nights they would have spent together, in sleep or hunt, in lust or love. A country is waiting. A princess is crying. A king is retreating quietly, a small smile stretching the lines of his face.

Pell watches him leave.

"Today is a great day for Arabasta."

Chaka looks where Pell does, at the figure concealing itself behind closing doors, gathering about itself the robes that hold its power and its burden. Catches the sag of tensed shoulders as a weight lifts, a smile grows.

A country is its people. Great or small, old or young, rich or poor. The burden of their hopes and fears, loyalty and love. The weight of the land lies heavy on a king's shoulders. He bears more than any other man, and it is not for those who give loyalty or share love to pay his ransom.

Chaka has wished he could relieve him of that worry, free him of the weight of their light touches, silent looks, hard embraces. The heavy absence that should never have been another's to bear.

A king's ransom paid. A man's smile. A great day.

"Yes, Pell. It is."

____

* * *

A/N: Trying to get across how differently a king like Cobra and someone who serves him as loyally as Pell or Chaka perceive the various debts and burdens they owe and carry. In the first, I try to develop the idea that Cobra believes that others carry his burdens for him - others pay for his mistakes. To him, Pell's sacrifice is his ransom - the price that is paid to save a country, free and redeem its king of his mistakes, so that king and country can both thrive. He notices specifically in the case of Pell and Chaka how both have quietly placed duty to him and to the country above their feelings for each other, without question and with complete serenity, as if it comes to them as naturally as breathing.

In the second, Chaka believes the king carries the burdens of others. Specifically, he notes that he and Pell add another burden - their relationship - to the king's load. He wishes that that burden would be theirs alone to carry, but he knows that it is part of how a true king regards his country and its people - Cobra, like Vivi, cares for each person. Here, the king's ransom is a lifting of part of that burden, so that the king is free of the burden of Pell's supposed death and the guilt he feels for it.

I hope that made sense.


	6. A Downward Sense of Direction

**Title:** A Downward Sense of Direction _OR_ Why Log Poses Are Round: Redux  
**Rating/Spoilers:** G; No spoilers  
**Word Count:** 100  
**Characters/Pairings:** Nami, Zoro/Sanji  
**Notes:** Back out of the stone ages, this is more recent. For the onepieceyaoi100[lj] theme "sense". In this case, sense of direction. And yes, I do get a kick out of Zoro _not_ being the clueless one.

* * *

**A Downward Sense of Direction** _OR_ **Why Log Poses Are Round: Redux**

Nami's sense of direction is unerring. Thus, she watches Zoro and Sanji exchange a particularly fervent round of violence and vitriol with something resembling amazement.

Zoro's never _completely_ failed to arrive at a fight, albeit usually after a few hours and several dozen wrong turns. Nami's generally there to punch him upside the head, even if all Luffy does is nod in solemn understanding.

But Nami's internal compass says Zoro may actually have found his way to _this_ battle in time to throw the first punch.

Maybe she shouldn't be that surprised.

Falling requires no sense of direction at all.


End file.
